Slow Building Fire
by Ada15
Summary: John's made a few mistakes. Now, they're coming back to bite him. CM Punk/John Cena.
1. Prologue

So, yes, this is character based. And it is CM Punk/John Cena.

I adore CM Punk and have for years. By the way, do you guys notice how tiny, tiny his trunks are? I swear those things ride so low on his hips it's a wonder they stay up at all. Hot. The man is beautiful.

I read this really awesome Punk/Cena fic a while back and it made me want to try one of my own.

This fic starts at the end of CM Punk's commentary days and when he took over Nexus.

I don't own anyone mentioned here and this is my prologue

_"You did it with him?" The incredulous, angry words came from the smaller of the two men as he pointed to the monitor, to where the world heavyweight championship match was taking place. _

_"I'm sorry…" John closed his eyes against the rage building in his boyfriend's dark green ones. _

_"You're sorry. Right." He brought one of his hands up, and it tangled in his long dark hair. His expression shifted after a moment._

_"Phil…" _

_"Don't. You don't get to call me that. Ever again." Then he was out the door. John followed after him but stopped in the hallway, standing there for several minutes. He got back to the monitors in enough time to watch Punk bash Jeff Hardy over the head with his microphone. _

It hadn't exactly been a spontaneous decision. He sat between Cole and Lawler as they both spouted off on how 'great' John Cena was and all he did was get more and more pissed off. By the end of John's match, he was pretty sure he wasn't thinking straight.

It all built up into too much and the next thing he knew, he was standing over John with a steel chair in his hands. He could see Cole and Lawler freaking out at the announce table but he was done. Done with sitting behind that desk and done being passive.

Xxxxxxxxx

For several minutes, John had no idea what had happened, who had taken him down. For a moment, while he lay in the ring while the agony in his back faded, he wondered if Ziggler had managed to get back to his feet for an attack.

Then he rolled over on his side, opened his eyes and saw the figure backing up the ramp. For that instant, he forgot all about the physical pain. His heart clenched as he stared at the man.

CM Punk turned his back on the ring and continued up the ramp. John lay there longer than he needed to as the truth of what had just happened settled in on him. He was used to seeing the hatred in Punk's eyes, was used to the feeling of guilt that settled low in his gut.

He got to his feet, pushing away the referees and stumbled into the ropes. Like he had a last year, a part of him wanted to run up the ramp after Punk. It hadn't worked out to well the last time he'd tried that, however.

The referees were urging him out of the ring and John pushed them away once again, the uncharacteristic show of anger from him causing them to take several steps back, arms raised. John ignored them and left the ring under his own power, the anger, guilt, and confusion making it easier to do so.

Punk certainly had waited a long time to take him out. Unless, of course, the bullshit he'd spouted off at the pay-per-view about him being sorry for Barrett was true, which John doubted. Punk may not have attacked him up until now but he certainly did seem to love to badmouth him at the announce table.

But the man hated him for a reason. What had happened had been entirely John's fault. He wondered what all of his critics who thought he was nothing more than a boy scout would think if they knew what he'd really done to cause such ire in CM Punk.

"You alright?"

John looked up to see Randy standing close by. Apparently he'd been waiting for him to get back there. Not such a surprise. Randy was one of the few people who did know why Punk would want to hit him with a chair.

"I'm fine," John answered, trying to stretch a little. He was going to be sore later. He could see the worry in Randy's eyes, which almost made John smile. He and Randy had become friends shortly after Wrestlemania that year. A friendship that had been strengthened after John had gotten himself fired for helping Randy retain the WWE title against Barrett.

"You going to do something about this?"

John shrugged and walked past Randy without answering. He had no idea what the answer was anyway. He was angry about the match, sure, but there was also a strong part of him that was guilty and that wanted nothing to do with hurting a man that he had really never stopped loving.

Xxxxxxxx

For the first time, Punk lied. When he was caught in the parking lot leaving and asked why he attacked John, he did lie. He went with the earlier bullshit he had been talking at the announce table, about feeling sorry for Barrett.

He didn't really give a shit about Barrett. This wasn't about Barrett. It was all about John, all about something that had been building for a while now.

He shook off the slight bit of guilt that had started as he'd walked up the ramp and left the arena.


	2. Jeff Hardy, SES, and the Diet Soda Feud

I don't have anything in particular against Jeff Hardy but I do know he really hates CM Punk. And I needed another bad guy for this fic. I've already weirded myself out by turning John into one for my Randy/Wade fic…

This chapter jumps back. It starts off just after CM Punk cashed in his Money in the Bank contract on Jeff Hardy. By the way, I was rewatching old Smackdown and RAW shows to jog my memory and can I just say that I kind of miss heel-Punk. I loved the Straight Edge Society stuff. Those completely psychotic promos he cut while he was doing that were awesome.

_June, 2009_

"Why'd you do it?" John was pacing in front of him in their hotel room, hands on his hips, frown on his face.

Sitting cross-legged on the bed, Punk was unwinding the tape from his wrists. John had grabbed him and pulled him from the arena before he'd had the chance to do much of anything. He only glanced up at John when he answered the question.

"I don't know if you remember but that is the point of the contract, isn't it?" He knew he'd made a lot of enemies by doing it, though. He'd heard it in the crowd. No one had expected it from him. They'd expected him to wait, maybe. To cash it in on someone like Edge again.

"But why now?" John pressed, turning to face him and Punk could see the conflict in his eyes.

"Why not now?"

"Because it's…" John trailed off but he didn't really need to finish.

"What? It's _Jeff Hardy?_"

"I know you guys don't get along…"

Punk laughed then, shook his head because that was a bit of an understatement. Jeff _hated _him, had pretty much since they'd first met. That, of course, had only been made more complicated when he and John had started dating because Jeff and John were friends.

Maybe cashing in his contract on Jeff had been born out of a little jealousy. He wasn't completely blind. He'd seen how close Jeff and John were. He'd seen how Jeff looked at John. He didn't like it but he did trust John.

"Why is it okay for me to cash it in on Edge and not on Jeff Hardy?" He challenged.

"Because it's…come on. He's worked years for this. Spent so many years in the tag team division, worked his way up the top. It's not right."

Punk scowled, affronted and stood up so that he was face to face with John. "So I guess the hard work only counts if you started out in the WWE?" Because he'd been working towards this position just as long. He'd worked his way up through the independent circuits until he'd finally been offered a contract. He'd worked countless dark matches only to be nearly fired a year into his contract because someone at the top of the ladder didn't like him.

He'd come across this kind of attitude too many times to count since signing with WWE too. Like his time in Ring of Honor and all the other places he'd worked didn't mean a damn thing up against someone like Jeff Hardy or Randy Orton who had both started their careers in WWE. He'd seen it before…he just hadn't ever expected it from John.

"That's not what I said," John pointed out with a sigh. He wasn't meeting Punk's eyes.

"I don't get why you put him up so high. Jeff Hardy…who got himself fired once and suspended twice, who likes to look at me like I'm some sanctimonious asshole while standing on his own pedestal."

"He's made some mistakes but he's owned up to them," John countered, still not meeting his eyes. "But this…"

"This?" Punk reached back to the bed to pick up the title. "You mean this or the WWE title? Jeff had his chance at that title. A chance he screwed himself out of when he got suspended the last time."

"You don't understand…"

"I don't understand? John, I busted my ass for years for a shot at this and then when I finally made it to the top, Randy Orton decided to kick me in the head. So, yes, I understand. What I don't understand is how you can still look at him and think he's completely innocent here."

_That _was something he'd been holding back on for a while. Jeff hated him and he never missed an opportunity to take a verbal shot at him. When John wasn't listening, of course. The hatred was definitely mutual and he could only go so long before he snapped.

"You're going to let this come between us, aren't you?" He asked when John didn't say anything. So far, despite the mutual hatred between him and Jeff, it hadn't been a problem for him and John.

"Of course not." And John did sound sure of himself but he still wasn't quite meeting Punk's gaze. Punk put a hand the side of his neck, and forced him to.

"Prove it."

After a moment, John's expression softened a little. "You need a shower, don't you?" John pulled him towards the bathroom and he completely missed the flash of guilt in John's eyes when he turned away again.

Xxxxxxxx

John thought he might be sick. He was sure that he wasn't sleeping. The argument they'd had kept playing over and over in his head. It was a rare thing for Punk to sleep through an entire night. John had found out just after they'd started dating just how much of an insomniac Punk was but for the moment, he was sleeping and John was not.

On his stomach, his long dark hair covering the visible side of his face, Punk was sleeping pretty peacefully and John was watching him, the guilt that had been raging in him for weeks now taking an even bigger foothold.

The view was nice, though. It was always nice. Punk wasn't one of the biggest guys on the roster but John had always been of the opinion that he was one of the most attractive. The trunks he wore to the ring didn't help any. If those things rode any lower on his hips, RAW would not be able to hold the PG rating.

John almost smiled at the thought but the guilt was still eating out his insides and it was more than difficult to smile with it there.

He'd always thought he was one of the nice guys, never would have thought of himself as a cheater. He'd never done it before, after all, and now he couldn't understand why he'd done it and why it had happened more than once.

They loved each other, John was sure of that but no relationship was without a little trouble and however attractive Punk was, he could be an ass when he wanted to be. He was honest, brutally so at times and he was a bit of a cynic. They'd had some spectacular fights since they'd gotten together.

The start of their relationship just so happened to coincide with the return of Jeff Hardy. John hadn't met Jeff before he'd left the company in 2003 but he'd never been one to judge other people on hearsay before and Jeff had been a nice guy when they finally did meet. In fact, they'd become friends.

Punk and Jeff, however, seemed to hate each other from the first moment they'd met. Maybe it was because they were so different. In fact, John was pretty sure that Jeff and Punk were pretty much the complete polar opposites.

They were civil to each other, or at least they were while John was around. And the fact that Punk, who had never had a problem speaking his mind before, actually made an effort to be civil towards Jeff while John was around only made the guilt worse.

John could still remember the horrible, awful feeling after the first time it had happened, when he'd come back to his and Punk's hotel room to find his boyfriend still awake, of course. He'd lied then and he had been lying ever since. It was grating at his conscious so badly it was starting to make him physically ill.

What made that sick feeling worse was that he knew he was going to have to tell Punk eventually. He didn't have it in him to keep the secret forever.

_July, 2009_

For just a few moments, he stood over Jeff Hardy, a little smile on his face. It was satisfying, laying Hardy out. More so than he'd thought it would be. He'd tried to be the good guy about it. He'd tried to get along, tried not to let it get to him but he was done being nice.

He hadn't really been thinking straight after John's confession and now all he could think was that he'd been stupid. He'd been stupid for not seeing it before. He'd been stupid for being so trusting.

He laughed then as he dropped the chair he'd just used on Jeff and he barely heard the crowd booing him. He hadn't received so much hatred from a crowd since he'd been in Ring of Honor and he did not care.

The referees were trying to get him to leave ringside but he shoved them aside and pulled Jeff up by his hair. Jeff was almost dead on his feet and Punk wrapped his fingers around Jeff's chin in a bruising grip, pain mixing with rage in his chest.

"This is how it's going to be, is it?" He yelled in Jeff's face, bringing the other man even closer. "You just had to take something, didn't you? I'm going to make sure you pay for it!" He shoved Jeff back into the announce table and then reached up, tangling his fingers in his hair.

For a moment, he thought he might have a breakdown, right there in front of the crowd and Jeff Hardy, in front of the cameras. Nearly three years…He'd spent nearly three years with John. In fact, their anniversary was coming up.

He shoved the referees away again when they got too close but didn't go after Jeff again, instead heading towards the backstage area. He made it backstage before he had to stop and lean against the wall. He was sure he might be sick.

He'd never had any lasting relationships before John. But he'd never really loved anyone the way he loved John. And he'd trusted John, even though he'd always been a bit on the cynical side.

And it was almost agony, burning in his chest. He sat there for a while with it; sure it was going to drive him insane.

_January, 2010_

"Your boy's really lost it."

John had been walking the backstage of Smackdown when the words stopped him and he turned his glare on Rey, who was standing off to the side. Rey saw the look on his face and raised his hands before turning to walk in the other direction and John's focus turned from the other man to the monitor.

The sick feeling that he'd had for the past couple of months came back at what he saw there. John had completely missed Punk's music hitting, apparently, because he was walking down the ramp towards the ring with a microphone in his hand, his new lackey Luke Gallows following close behind.

John's stomach twisted again. He tuned out Punk's words, or at least tried his best to. It was enough that he looked like he hadn't shaved in weeks. It was enough that the look in his eyes was completely new and kind of crazy.

John had watched Punk's slide down the crazy path since he'd bashed Jeff Hardy over the head with a microphone. Which, considering everything that had happened backstage between he, Punk, and Hardy, it wasn't exactly undeserved.

The man speaking at ringside, though, was almost completely unrecognizable from the man that John had been with for nearly three years. John was sure in the knowledge and the guilt that both he and Jeff had driven Punk to where he was.

John just hadn't expected Punk to go so completely over the edge. He'd maybe expected Punk to come after him but so far that hadn't happened at all. He'd gone after Jeff with a vengeance, eventually even driving Jeff out of the company but he hadn't come after John.

John watched as Punk preached, and he watched as Punk shaved the head of some girl who bought into what he was saying. It was like watching a cult leader work and it almost physically hurt to see it.

He'd come to Smackdown to at least try and talk to Punk again. At first, he'd been sure that what Punk had been preaching since the start of his feud with Jeff Hardy were just born out of anger and the mutual hatred between the two men but in the last month or so, he'd begun to doubt that it was just anger.

_December, 2010_

"_For those who don't know, in my relentless pursuit of the Nexus, I admit I accidentally spilled CM Punk's diet soda." _

For several minutes, John stood backstage as the show opened in indecision. After what had happened last week, it was probably expected that he go out and cut a promo. The guys in the back had the clip all ready. CM Punk, getting up from his commentary position and hitting him over the spine with a couple of chair shots.

John had hardly slept since last week. He'd actually thought he might have been able to move on after everything that had happened between him and Punk. As difficult as it was to know that he had been the cause of it, that he was the reason that their three year relationship had been destroyed…

With Punk on Smackdown, it had been easier. Even with Punk on commentary. Commentary…his lips twitched just a little bit when he thought about one of the encounters he'd had with Punk while he'd been doing commentary.

Going out and cutting a promo on Punk, though….that would make it official, wouldn't it? That would make it a feud. And, while it had been nearly a year and a half since they'd broken up, he still didn't want that.

Three years was a long time. Punk had been the first person he'd ever truly fallen in love with and he'd screwed up in the worst possible way. But he couldn't go into all the real reasons why Punk could possibly hate him.

He didn't really have a choice. He doubted Punk would give him one. So, with a sigh, he did go out when his music hit. And he made it official.

xxxxxxx

The whole "diet soda feud" when Punk was on commentary was funny as hell...


	3. Sleepless Nights

You guys might have noticed that I don't use CM Punk's real name much in this fic and I probably won't. I don't usually use their real names when I'm writing character based fics. Plus, I hear that he hates being called by his real name…

_January, 2008_

Not for the first time since he'd been injured, John woke up a little late. Well, late for him. He was generally a morning person but the time off had been making him feel both restless and a little grouchy.

Still, he smiled when he did open his eyes at the sight that greeted him. Punk was sitting next to him on the bed. He was leaning against the headboard, thoroughly engrossed in some comic book. He'd had a few days off himself and they'd spent the last two together before Punk had to fly back out for the next house show.

John was completely unsurprised to find Punk awake.

"How long you been up?" He asked, propping himself up on his elbows, smile still in place.

Punk immediately turned his attention to John and a smile formed on his face as well. "Long enough to go for a run and take a shower. I think this time off is making you lazy."

John's smile turned into a frown and he groaned a little when he glanced at the clock. It wasn't _that _late. "Did you sleep at all?"

Punk shrugged. "Sleep, apparently, is overrated."

"Uh huh." John had become somewhat accustomed to this since they'd gotten together. They often went to bed entangled together and he would often wake to find his boyfriend already up, half the time after not sleeping at all. It was a mild source of worry for him, even though Punk seemed pretty used to it.

John often attributed Punk's sometimes less than sunny demeanor to the incessant insomnia. Even so, John was always happy when they could spend some time together. Even before John had gotten injured, with Punk still on ECW and John on RAW, they didn't get to see each other near as much as John would have liked.

"Come on," Punk said, poking John a couple of times. "Time to get up, lazy."

John rolled his eyes, could practically see him vibrating with what was probably caffeine induced energy now that John was up. He grabbed Punk's arm and pulled him so that he was laying half on top of John.

"Just…be still for a second, would you?" He wrapped one arm around Punk's waste. Maybe he was getting lazy but he did like the feeling. And, after a minute, Punk did settle, resting his chin on John's chest.

"So…excited about the rumble?"

Punk lifted his head and lifted an eyebrow. "You want to talk shop now, Cena?"

John shrugged. "I don't know…I just figured…" He chewed his lip, trailed off a moment. He'd started this conversation more than once already.

"Yes, I am," Punk answered.

"You sound enthusiastic," John countered.

"We're in bed together. It's an off day. Let's not talk about our jobs…"

"Fine…" The frown on John's face did not leave. He did feel a little guilty. He was supposed to be returning at the Royal Rumble, although nobody knew about it but him and a few of the higher ups. He'd been debating on whether or not to tell Punk, or to surprise him the way he was sure to surprise everyone else.

"What's wrong?"

John shook his head. "Nothing," he said before flipping their positions and pressing his lips against Punk's, effectively stopping any conversation.

Xxxxxxxx

_January, 2011_

John Cena was walking with a purpose. He'd tore out of the elevator that had taken him one floor down from his own room to find the one he was looking for. He'd charmed the girl working the front desk, who had happened to be a fan of his, into giving him the room number. It was late, past two but he doubted the one he was looking for was asleep.

He didn't pause when he reached the right door, instead pounding on it as loudly as he could without waking anyone up in the other rooms. The door didn't take long to open and then he was staring into Punk's angry green eyes.

Again, John did not pause. He immediately pushed past Punk. He stopped near the bed before turning to face Punk. He was angry now. It had been simmering in him since RAW had gone off the air. The chair attack from Punk two weeks ago had been one thing, but what had happened on RAW earlier in the night had been too much.

"What the hell are you doing?" Punk asked, sounding just as angry as John felt.

John, however, ignored the question, taking a moment to look over the other man. Punk had obviously not been asleep; he was still dressed in a tee-shirt and jeans. Judging from the ever present bags under his eyes, John doubted he'd ever found a way to kick the insomnia that had plagued him as long as John had known him.

"What the hell are you thinking?" John finally asked himself. "Nexus? You're really joining Nexus?"

"I think I answered that tonight," Punk said shortly, gesturing to the door. "You can go."

"No, I don't think so." John crossed his arms and glared at him. "You know, I really thought you'd lost your mind when you stopped shaving and started shaving other people's heads but this…How could you do this?"

"They asked me. I said yes." Punk's expression remained closed off as he answered. "Anything else?"

"What the hell is wrong with you?" John ignored the dismissal in Punk's tone.

Something close to rage flashed in Punk's eyes then and he stepped closer to John. "What are you doing here? Did you come here to try and talk me out of it? Did you come here just to tell me what an asshole you think I am?"

"You _are _an asshole," John said lowly. "But I'm sure you're going to blame me, right? You really hate me this much?"

"Three years, Cena," Punk said, stepping even closer, into John's personal space. "I spent three years of my life devoted to _you _and then you went and fucked my biggest enemy. For months while we were still together so, yes, I do hate you that much."

"So, this is just about what happened with us…?"

Punk drew back and shook his head. His eyes were still dark with that rage. "Oh, no. It's bigger than that but I'll admit you did play a major part in the decision. But, then again, so did your new best buddy, Randy Orton. But it's not even just about you two…"

"Then what else is there?"

Xxxxxxxx

He didn't answer the question. He wouldn't but he was…pissed off. He'd been pissed off for a while. Not just at John, like he'd said. Lately, there weren't many people backstage that _didn't _piss him off.

For a while after he'd found out about John and Jeff, he kind of had lost his mind. But he wasn't crazy, at least not anymore. Just so very angry. He reached a hand up to rake back his hair and that was when John reached over and wrapped his fingers around Punk's bicep.

John was standing too close and for a moment, he found himself affected by it. However much he did hate John, there were still those old positive feelings mixed up in that hatred. He'd simply spent too long with John and John had been the first-and only-person he'd ever truly fallen in love with.

And, he had fallen hard. He'd always been the type to jump headlong into things without looking back. He'd gotten into wrestling that way. He'd never even considered a backup plan, never gone to college because he was sure of what he wanted to do. He'd done the same with John, jumped headlong into the relationship and he'd been so damned sure that John was it for him.

"Please," John said softly, pulling Punk even closer to him. There was pain shining in his blue eyes. The kind of pain that ran deeper than the physical type and, for a moment, Punk's anger faltered. John used this moment of indecision to pull Punk against him.

Punk almost laughed at the action. It was John. He shouldn't have been so surprised. Punk had hit him with a chair, attacked him and then joined Nexus and instead of punching him in the face for all that, John was attempting a hug.

But his anger did come back at the thought. John had always been such a nice guy and Punk had always thought he was a loyal guy. The thought of John cheating had never even crossed his mind. It had always been inconceivable. _He _was the bad one, after all. _He _was the cynical one, the sarcastic one, the asshole.

But he still remembered. He remembered the smug look on Jeff Hardy's face. He remembered the guilty one on John's. He shoved John away from him as the memories hit.

"You need to go," he said, the anger coming back, even stronger than before.

"I told you, I'm not-"

"Yes, you are. I know you've never respected me very much, John but you could at least leave when I ask you to."

"That's not true," John protested and some of that hurt was back in his eyes, along with a bit of anger of his own.

Punk scoffed and grabbed a fistful of John's shirt. The printed words, his slogan, the morals he claimed to live by standing out on it. He hated those damn words almost as much as the man standing in front of him.

"You can stand there and lie all you want but I've seen how much you respect me and I've seen how loyal you really are. So, go, John. You don't get to come in to my hotel room and demand answers from me anymore."

John ran a hand over his mouth and looked away before he did start past Punk. He stopped at the door, however and turned back. "I still love you," he said to Punk's back. "I do hate what you're doing and I will fight you on it but as for what happened between us…I am sorry. I've been sorry since it happened and I think maybe I'll still love you no matter what you do."

He walked out then, leaving Punk in the middle of the room with nothing but his rage and the echo of that old familiar pain that being so close to John always brought back.


	4. Hurt

So…I don't really keep up with Jeff Hardy anymore mainly because I can't stand to watch TNA but someone suggested I watch this video on Youtube where he was ranting about CM Punk…I think I maybe lost what respect I had for Jeff after watching that…I had no idea he could be so…arrogant and petty. Damn…

Like the rest of this story, this has two parts. The first part takes place after John Cena's injury in 2007, the one that was blamed on Randy Orton but was really Mr. Kennedy's fault…and then it jumps to when CM Punk took over leadership of Nexus. I think I remember that it was Wade Barrett that injured Cena at a house show just before CM Punk screwed Barrett over and took over Nexus…The quote at the beginning of the second part is a bit from a promo Punk cut just before he took over Nexus.

_October, 2007_

"Would you stop worrying? I'll be fine," John insisted, not for the first time although he was smiling. Despite the injury and the surgery he was about to have to go through, he couldn't help but to smile. Punk, who could be quite a bit abrasive and stand offish, had been fussing since he'd gotten injured.

Punk frowned at him. "Sometimes, I don't think you're human." He dropped down in the chair beside the bed John was in. "Only you'd be smiling after this." His tone had turned light, and mildly teasing.

"Maybe I need to. And you can fuss all you want after I get out of surgery."

Punk scowled and his anger had come back. "What I want to do is kick Randy Orton's teeth down his throat."

"But you're not going to," John stated firmly. "I'll take care of Orton."

"If this is because you think I can't take him on…" Punk's scowl only deepened at the thought.

"That's not it. But this is my fight. Orton went after my dad, he went after me. I need to be the one to go after him. I'm asking you not to."

Punk scoffed and sat back, crossing his arms over his chest. "Because if it had been me he put in the hospital, you'd take a step back?"

"Maybe, if you asked me."

"Right," Punk answered skeptically.

"Just…promise me you'll let me handle it. I need to be the one to handle it."

Punk sighed before finally relenting at the look on John's face, "fine."

_January, 2011_

_"…I spent the better part of it searching the backstage area for John Cena. The funny thing is, I can't see John Cena because John Cena is not here tonight. John Cena is not here tonight because of me…" _

He hadn't moved. He was dressed in his full ring gear, Nexus shirt on but he hadn't moved from his position on the floor yet. Back pressed against the wall, he glared at the monitor across from him, displaying the images of the rest of the Nexus members, Wade Barrett at the center.

Punk's fists clenched. He'd gone out and he'd cut his promo earlier, going so far as to take credit for the injury that had taken John Cena out of action but it hadn't been him that had put Cena out. Just thinking about his confrontation with Barrett made him want to grind his teeth and knock Barrett's out. It had been exceedingly difficult to remain calm when he'd been in front of the crowd.

But Barrett would be in a cage match later on in the night and Punk had already formulated the revenge plot in his mind. He was fully aware that he was plotting it on John's behalf and fully aware of just how screwed up that fact was considering that he had attacked John twice over the past two weeks himself.

He shouldn't have cared but John's visit to his hotel room had thrown him off balance in a way he hadn't expected. He hated that but he couldn't seem to stop the anger, all directed towards Barrett. He had to do something about it or he was going to end up doing something even more stupid, like going to visit John himself.

That was the _really _fucked up part about all of it. He wanted to go see John. His fingers itched to dial John's number and find out if he was alright, find out how seriously he was injured. It was infuriating that he could still worry about John after everything the man had done to him.

Worst of all, he felt _guilty _for the things he'd said earlier. John's admission of feelings that Punk had been sure were long gone was what was doing it. He'd been sure that John would have moved on. He'd been sure that John didn't really give a damn about him when he'd found out about John and Jeff.

The thing was, he was sure now that John _hadn't _been lying, hadn't been playing him in his hotel room. Apparently John telling the truth could screw with his head worse than him lying. Because the feelings were still there for him as well.

Oh, he still hated John and there was a part of him that wanted to hurt John even more for still loving him and for admitting it but there was also a part of him that didn't hate John. That, no matter how hard he tried to suppress it, to stamp it out, still did love John.

It was that part of him that had him planning the revenge against Barrett and it was that part of him that would have him picking up his cell phone later on in the night.

Xxxxxxxxx

John felt like punching a hole through his wall. Not only had Barrett injured him but Punk was taking credit for it…He was angry. He was angry about the promo Punk had cut at the beginning of RAW and he was angry that he couldn't be there.

He considered turning off his television after Punk had left the ring. Watching Punk officially become a part of Nexus was something that was almost too infuriating and painful to watch.

It only got worse when the cage match at the end of the show started between Randy and Barrett started. He almost threw his remote at the TV when Punk came out, scaled the cage and offered a hand to Barrett to help him out of the cage for the win.

He stopped, however, when Punk did something John completely wasn't expecting and ripped the armband from Barrett before shoving him back down to the mat. John was still frowning when Randy stepped out the cage door for the win, a win that Punk had helped him get.

John did turn the television off then and he lay back on his bed. Punk betraying Barrett would mean that he would really be taking over leadership of Nexus. That was what Barrett and Punk had been arguing about at the top of the show, after all. Punk hadn't done it to help Randy win, he'd done it to screw over Barrett.

Which meant that he was still screwed when it came to Nexus. All his work to take it down and this happened? Barrett had had a pretty big vendetta against him but Punk had an even bigger, personal one.

He was so lost in thought that he almost jumped when his phone rang. He reached for it and answered the call without looking at the caller id first.

"Yeah?"

For a moment, there was silence on the other end.

"Hello?" John pressed, about to take the phone away from his ear to check it when he heard a sigh. The voice that came over the phone had him freezing in shock.

"_I really do hate you, you know_?" Punk's tone was bitter as he spoke and John was finding it hard to breathe. "_Why couldn't you just punch me in the face like you were supposed to?" _

"You just call me to tell me you hate me?" John practically choked the question out but some of the anger he'd felt while watching RAW came back.

"_No, I…" _There was a pause on the other end and John could faintly hear Punk cursing. He sounded unsure of himself, which was more than strange. Punk had never been short on confidence.

"_I just need…" _

"What?" John pressed, wanted to ask a dozen other questions. Was he calling just to gloat about Nexus? To tell John that he was still going to come after him? This was one person he'd never expected to get a call from again.

"_I'm sorry," _Punk blurted out suddenly and if John was shocked at the call, it was nothing on his reaction to those two words. "_I shouldn't have taken credit and the end of the show…I wanted to…" _

"Punk…" John's voice came out barely a whisper. Suddenly, he saw Punk's attack on Barrett in an entirely different light.

"_Fuck. I think I'm really am turning into a masochist..." _He paused and when he spoke next, his voice tone turned pained. "_This doesn't change anything. I really do hate you." _He hung up.

John lowered his phone and stared at it for several minutes, his mind and heart racing. He couldn't have helped but to notice that Punk hadn't sounded so sure of himself in that last statement.


	5. Run Away

_July, 2009_

Feet pounding against the pavement, following a route he had a hundred times before, Punk picked up the pace. Running was one of his favorite exorcises and he needed it right then. He needed the pounding of his heart to drown out the memories of his last conversation with John.

He went full speed ahead, kept going until his muscles burned and his side hurt and even then he didn't stop. He was so angry. It hadn't dissipated at all in the two days since they'd filmed Smackdown, since John had finally told him the truth.

He'd gotten calls from several people. Some wanting to know what he was thinking, some wanting to run him down for attacking Jeff Hardy. He'd ignored them all. He didn't give a damn what Jeff's friends backstage thought of him and he didn't want to have to explain the real reason why he'd done it yet to his friends. He figured he would at least call his sisters back, maybe Colt. They were, really, the only ones who knew about his relationship with John anyway aside from the few people backstage.

He was very suddenly the villain in everyone's eyes. He didn't care about that. There had always been people backstage that hated him, even when he wasn't bashing their fan favorites over the head with microphones. Now, they just had a bigger reason to hate him.

But he was okay with that. He was pretty sure didn't care about much anymore except hurting Jeff Hardy.

When he reached his house he finally did stop. Bending over he put his hands on his knees and attempted to catch his breath. It wasn't until he straightened that he spotted the person sitting on his front porch and any anger he'd burn off during the run came roaring back.

"Hey," John said.

Still breathing hard, Punk stopped about a foot from John. "What are you doing here?"

"I came…" John looked away from him. "I came to talk to you."

"Talk to the wall. It'll listen better." Punk started past him. His jaw clenched when John reached for him, when his fingers wrapped around Punk's forearm, stopping his progress.

"Don't touch me," he hissed, jerking away from John.

John held up his hands in surrender but his eyes were still earnest, imploring. "Please, I just need to say I'm sorry. I don't know what I was thinking-"

"How long?" Punk interrupted. It was a question he had failed to ask two days ago but one that had been keeping him up at night. "How long have you and he been…" He trailed off, unable to even say it yet.

John shifted on his feet, looking down. "Since December," he answered quietly, reluctantly.

"December," Punk repeated. He laughed then, the sound just a bit hysterical. He reached up to grip the sides of his head, causing the hat he'd worn on his run to fall to the porch.

"I'm sorry." John sounded miserable and sincere but it wasn't near good enough.

"Fuck you." Punk turned, walked inside, and slammed the door in John's face.

Xxxxxxxxx

_January, 2011_

He pushed himself along the same route he had followed for years now, pressing himself to go faster, the phone call he had made just two nights ago still playing over and over in his head. Being back in Chicago, have the few days off hadn't helped his mental state at all.

The freezing cold air burned his lungs as he ran, as he tried to drown out John's voice in his head. The call had been a mistake. It had to of been. He couldn't think straight anymore. But it was easier to focus on the burning in his muscles, to focus on the cold biting at him.

When he reached his house, he stopped, breathing hard and that was when he noticed the person sitting on his porch. John was a little hunched over, wearing a heavy coat. Punk stood still for a moment while he caught his breath before he started slowly closer.

"You trying to get sick?" John asked when Punk got about a foot from him, looking over Punk's shorts and tee-shirt with disapproval. "It's freezing out here."

"What are you doing here?" Punk asked, attempting to infuse some anger in his tone even as his chest still heaved from the, really sprint, he'd just made. He ignored John's question.

"I came to talk," John answered with a wry little smile. Punk understood the smile. He still remembered the time John had shown up on his porch a year and a half ago, just two days after he'd told Punk about his affair with Jeff.

"Yeah, well, you could talk to the wall."

"I'm not leaving this time," John returned, determination shining in his eyes. Punk rolled his and crossed his arms.

"You know, when a person doesn't answer their phone, it usually means that they don't want to talk." Because he'd seen the calls from John but had ignored every one of them. He was both embarrassed and furious with himself over his own call to John.

"Can we just go inside and talk for a few minutes?" John pressed, standing. "I promise, I'll leave after that but I just need…I need this."

Punk faltered a little. It was pretty cold out and John had obviously taken a cab. "Fine." Didn't mean anything had to change. He walked past John and unlocked the door, leaving it open as he went inside and headed for the kitchen.

He opened the fridge and grabbed a bottle of water while he heard the front door close and John following him into the kitchen. He leaned against his stove and John kept the kitchen island between them, at least for the time being.

"So talk," Punk gestured to him with a sigh, suddenly sure this was a bad idea. He hadn't slept much at all since his phone call to John and he was exhausted. His muscles still burned from the run and all he really wanted to do was take a shower and sleep for a week. Wouldn't happen, even when he wasn't dealing with all the personal crap he'd never been able to sleep well and he doubted he'd be sleeping at all after John left.

"You called me," John pointed out first and there was still a spark of surprise in his eyes from that fact.

"Yeah, look did you actually come here to say anything of importance-"

"I've been trying to get over it," John cut him off. "Ever since it happened, ever since I realized I couldn't make it up to you I've been trying but I can't and what's happened over the past couple of weeks just made that clear."

"You mean when I hit you with a chair? Or when I attacked you with Nexus and then joined them?"

"How about when you attacked and betrayed Barrett because he injured me? Or when you apologized for taking the credit for the injury?" John countered with a glare.

Punk pushed off the stove and stepped forward until his hips made contact with the island. He placed his hands flat on it and glared right back at John. "So, one phone call and you follow me all the way here?"

"Because I still love you, dammit! Even though you did join Nexus, which I still can't believe. They are the ones that attacked you when they first got to RAW, remember? They attacked both of us."

"That's the point of our jobs, John. We beat the shit out of each other."

"I know you hate Nexus, I know you do. You hold grudges longer than anyone I've ever met."

"Only with you, apparently."

"Only with me, huh?"

"Yes, John. I still remember the last time you showed up on my front porch. You know, when you admitted that you'd been fucking Jeff Hardy for months while we were still together. So, what are you doing here John? You can't make that up to me and even if you could, I could never trust you again."

Punk pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes before lifting them to rake his hair back several times. This was going nowhere. He shouldn't have even let John inside.

"I need a shower and at least attempt to sleep. You need to go. Call a cab, whatever. I just need you to be gone when I get out." He started around the island but John stepped in front of him. "John-"

"I do still love you," John interrupted, getting into his personal space. "And I'm going to prove it to you."

"I believe you. It just doesn't matter anymore." Punk walked around him, his heart pounding harder than it had been after his run.


	6. Comfort

A bit of psycho-Randy in this chapter. This is character based, after all…The first part takes place after CM Punk and Kofi Kingston won the tag titles off Ted DiBiase and Cody Rhodes.

The second part takes place after the Royal Rumble match in 2011. If you guys remember, Nexus split when Punk took over on RAW. Half the guys followed him, half followed Wade Barrett to Smackdown…

_October, 2008_

The attack really shouldn't have been unexpected. At least, it shouldn't have been considering his own history with Legacy. Punk wasn't the only one backstage with the same history with Legacy either.

Still, they blindsided him. He'd already changed into his street clothes and was heading out to the parking lot to meet John when it happened. He wasn't sure which one hit first, all he was really aware of was the shot of pain when a forearm connected with the back of his head. He pitched forward, unable to stop the downward motion and landed hard on his knees and hands.

A kick to the midsection propelled him onto his side and then it was only a matter of bringing his arms up to protect his face. The blows stopped after only a minute. He rolled to his back and then Orton knelt down to tangle his fingers in Punk's hair to jerk his head up.

"You just keep messing with the wrong people, don't you?"

Punk laughed through the rising pain in his head. "Figures you can't do anything without back up." Orton had been the one to cost him the heavyweight title only a month ago and he was so very tired of the three on one tactic.

Another kick was landed and then the back of his head cracked painfully off the concrete floor, dazing him for a moment and making his vision blurry. He wondered if Orton would pull the same trick he'd used last month, wondered if he was going to be able to walk out of the arena this time.

"Hey!" He heard the yell, and then was aware of Orton, Rhodes, and DiBiase running. He closed his eyes after they were gone, rolling back onto his side and bringing one arm up to wrap it around his aching head.

"Are you alright?" A familiar voice asked from above. A hand landed on his shoulder and Punk opened his eyes cautiously to find John kneeling beside him, a concerned look painted on his face.

"Peachy," Punk answered with a groan, pushing himself up on his knees, wrapping one arm around his midsection. DiBiase and Rhodes had at least left a few bruises.

"Come on." John reached for him and Punk leaned into John when he wrapped an arm around Punk's waste, lifting him to his feet.

"Maybe we should get you checked out," John suggested when Punk clung a little bit to him. Punk was never exactly the clingy type.

"Just take me back to the hotel." He did grip John's shoulders to keep himself upright on the way there.

John watched him the whole way there with a worried frown. John pulled Punk down on the bed when they made it to their hotel room after stripping them both down to their boxers.

"I wanna kill Orton," Punk said quietly, burying his face in his pillow.

"Yeah, I know the feeling." It was one he felt pretty strongly himself but he ignored it, at least for the moment, in favor of his boyfriend. John reached for him, one hand going to rest on Punk's back before he was working his way down, kneading the muscles there in an attempt to get Punk to relax.

He'd tried it before when Punk's insomnia kicked into full gear. It didn't always work as the insomnia wasn't always just due to physical aches but mental ones but it at least had the effect of making Punk relax.

After a few minutes, John smiled when he realized that it had worked this time, although it might have been due to exhaustion as well. John wrapped an arm around Punk, got as close as he dared without waking the man up and closed his eyes as well.

_Royal Rumble, 2011_

_When Punk finally did come back into the living room, John was gone as he had asked. He sighed, scrubbed a hand across his face and started towards the kitchen. He had already gone to the fridge, gotten something to drink before he noticed the paper sitting on his kitchen island. _

_Reaching forward, he picked it up. It was three pages folded together, his name, his _real _name printed on the front. For a moment, he simply stared at it, considered throwing it in the trash next to the island but, in the end, he opened it up instead and he read…_

The blows wouldn't stop. Curled into a ball on the floor of the locker room, arms wrapped around his head to protect it, Punk bit his lip hard enough to make it bleed in an effort not to cry out when Slater landed a kick to his exposed lower back.

He'd barely had a chance to change out of his trunks and into his street clothes before Barrett had confronted him over the Nexus situation. He was taunting Punk throughout the attack, claiming to have already taken out Otunga, McGillicutty, and Harris for turning their backs on him.

The attack only lasted a few minutes but it was enough to have every part of Punk's body hurting and enough for him to stay on the floor well after Barrett, Slater, and Gabriel left the locker room.

Xxxxxxxx

John was not having a good week. He'd flown to Chicago at the beginning of the week in a wasted effort to talk to Punk. That conversation had turned out short and hadn't gone in his favor. He had left a letter on Punk's kitchen island but doubted whether or not Punk read it at all.

He'd written it after he and Punk had broken up, after he'd realized what a mistake he'd made, what an idiot he'd been. He'd always been too afraid to send it, though. He'd been so sure that it would have never gotten read-and it probably wouldn't have back then.

But now…The phone call and the fact that Punk had let him inside his house…he'd thought, maybe, that it would be a good time. That maybe Punk would read it this time but he hadn't gotten another phone call and Punk had been avoiding him backstage since his visit to Chicago.

But he needed to follow through on it. He needed to make sure, to know. If there was no chance that he had one, or if the past few weeks meant that Punk still did care about him, love him. That was what had him heading towards the Nexus locker room.

He hesitated at the door a moment but he'd seen Otunga, McGillicutty, and Harris leave earlier, without Punk. The Royal Rumble match hadn't gone exactly as planned. He'd ended up fighting Punk a little more than he would have liked.

He knocked on the door several times but went in when he didn't get an answer. He had to stop short when the door swung open and he saw the state of the room. The place was trashed; one bag that he knew was Punk's from the clothes spilling from it was on the floor. And, in the center of the room, Punk was there, curled up on the floor.

His shirt was ripped nearly off his body, and he had his face pressed against the floor, one hand gripping his head in obvious pain. John didn't even have to think about it before he was closing the distance between them and kneeling at Punk's side.

"Hey," he said softly, leaning down close and putting a hand on Punk's shoulder. "What happened? You alright?"

"John?" Punk got out, staring up at him.

"Yeah." John wrapped an arm around him, pulling him up into a sitting position.

"What are you doing here?" He tried, unsuccessfully to push John away from him.

"I came to talk to you," John answered. "Would you stop?" His tone filled with frustration when Punk continued to try and stand on his own and push John away. "You're going to hurt yourself even worse."

"I'm fine," Punk protested but put the lie to his words when he leaned forward suddenly, wrapping one arm around his aching ribs and reaching out to grip John's forearm with the other tightly.

"Sure you are." John paused, keeping him pinned with a worried gaze. "Here, just let me help you. You're not going to be able to get back to the hotel without help."

"I can-"

"I know you're stubborn and I know you still hate me," John cut him off before he could finish the protest, "but please…just let me help you."

John wasn't sure if it was due to exhaustion or his words but Punk did not protest again when John reached out to wrap an arm around his waist and lift him to his feet. He even leaned into John on their way out of the arena.

The walk, and then the car ride to the hotel, were completely silent. Punk, who was usually one of the most talkative people John had ever met, remained unresponsive the whole way. Although he did allow John to help him and he did allow John into his hotel room when they reached it.

He rolled onto his stomach after dropping onto his bed and, seemingly ignoring John, buried his face in his pillow. John stood, unsure, for several minutes. Punk probably expected him to leave right away but John was reluctant to do so. Instead, he sat down next to Punk and leaned over him.

"What are you doing…?" Punk started to lift his head, to tell John to leave but he stopped short when John's hands found their way to his back and he began kneading the muscles there. Groaning, he buried his face in his pillow once again.

His mind went to the letter that John had left for him. If John's visit to his house had thrown him off kilter, that letter had succeeded in completely flooring him. John's hands had the same affect on him as they had two years ago and pretty soon drowsiness settled in on him.

He was half asleep, still thinking about that letter, when the words escaped his lips. "I don't hate you," he mumbled into his pillow, just loud enough for John to hear. He completely missed the shock that crossed over John's face.


	7. Advice

This chapter is short. I originally meant the last part to go with the previous chapter but ended up splitting it, so I'm posting it along with the last chapter and is the main reason the letter John wrote isn't mentioned in this chapter.

_July, 2007_

Punk had barely made it inside his hotel room when John surprised him by wrapping his fingers around Punk's wrist and pulling him completely inside. The door banged shut and John pressed him up against it.

He hadn't seen John in over two weeks but John was making up for it. He pressed his lips against Punk's and Punk immediately reached up to wrap his arms around John, bringing the man closer to him.

John reached down, gripped Punk's ass and lifted him up. Punk's thighs immediately went to circle John's waist and John's lips moved from Punk's down to his neck.

"Those fucking trunks you wear should be outlawed," John growled, pushing Punk's shirt up.

"If they cause this type of reaction, no they shouldn't," Punk countered. He gasped and when John began trailing kisses on his chest. He pulled away from the wall, carrying Punk over to the bed and they both dropped down on it, John on top of him.

John loomed over him, his hand moving lower until he reached into the black shorts Punk had worn from the arena. Punk's back arched.

"Fuck me," he choked out, breathless. John smirked and obliged.

_2011, the morning after the Royal Rumble_

For the first time in a long time, Punk did not wake up alone. He was practically lying on top of John and he immediately rolled away from the man to sit up and stare down at him. He still hurt all over and he remembered the attack from Barrett the night before. He remembered John taking him back to his hotel room and he vaguely remembered, with a good deal of embarrassment, latching onto John when he'd tried to leave.

Dropping back down on his back, he brought his hands up to his head. He'd been half asleep and hurting when he'd grabbed a hold of John the night before but it still said something, didn't it? He glanced sideways at John but John hadn't stirred at him moving. Not so surprising. John had always been a bit of a heavy sleeper.

He looked to the nightstand. He'd only been asleep for about five hours, which was honestly good for him, especially as of late and he knew that he probably had John to thank for those five hours.

It was just another reminder of what they'd had before. John used to get so worried about him, about the insomnia, even when Punk insisted that it was fine, that he was used to it. John had always been such a nice guy, a good guy and they'd been good together. Better than good.

He'd been caught so off guard by the thing with Jeff. It wasn't as if he hadn't been cheated on before. He had but he hadn't been in love with those people. He hadn't invested so much in those relationships.

He was so fucking tired of being angry. He was tired of the constant vacuum of angst that his life had become since John had cheated on him. He was tired of the hollow feeling in his chest. He was just plain tired.

He hadn't been happy in a long time, with his job or with his personal life. After a moment, he sighed and reached for his phone and got up, heading into the bathroom, closing the door. Sitting on the edge of the tub, he dialed a number he'd dialed hundreds of times before and waited, agitated. It rang four times before the line picked up.

_"Dude, it's five o'clock in the morning," _Colt finally answered, voice raspy with sleep.

"What happened to 'call me anytime?'" Punk asked but was unable to infuse any sort of amusement in his voice.

"_Yeah, well, I said that before I found out you never sleep." _Despite the words and his attempt at sounding angry, Punk could detect the amused fondness in his tone and he almost smiled at it. Almost. Couldn't when Colt spoke next, turning serious.

"_What's up?" _

Punk scowled. "John's in my bed," he stated bluntly.

There was a long silence on the other end. "_You and John…" _

"Hardly. He's asleep in my bed and I'm hiding out in the bathroom, talking to you. I'm so fucked."

"_Alright. Look, it is way too early and I haven't had nearly enough sleep to decipher that. How about you start from the beginning?" _

Punk sighed, rested his head in his free hand and started talking. He hadn't spoken to anyone about the situation since he'd gotten up from the announce table and hit John with a chair. Colt was one of the few people in his life who would cut through the bullshit with him, who would call him out when he was being an idiot. Maybe that was why he hadn't called Colt before. Maybe he was afraid of what his friend would say.

But Colt was also one of the few people that had never turned his back on Punk, no matter what he'd done in the past, no matter how crazy he'd gotten.

"_Maybe you should talk to him. And, you know, actually talk without turning it into a fight," _Colt suggested when he had finally finished.

"I don't know if that's possible." Because no matter how tired of it he was, he _was _still angry.

"_You can't hide out in the bathroom forever. And you've been miserable since you guys broke up. At the risk of sounding sappy, it would actually be nice to see you happy for a change." _

"I'm beginning to think that's not possible."

"_It might be if you talked to him. I'm not saying you have to get back together with him but you do need to figure this out. Either you forgive him and take him back, or you move on, man. You gotta do one or the other. The only way you're going to be able to do either is if you talk to him." _

"Yeah…"

_"At the further risk of sounding sappy, whatever you do, I got your back." _

Punk laughed, humorlessly. "I know. Thanks."

"_Not a problem." _

Punk hung up then and sat there for several minutes more before he finally got up. When he came out of the bathroom, John was awake and sitting up, watching him warily. Punk walked over, stopped about a foot from the bed.

"We need to talk."


	8. The Talk

I was listening to an interview with CM Punk and the interviewer asked him what he thought of John Cena. This was his automatic, first response:

"I _love _John Cena!" Exclamation needed because of the way he said it. I thought it was adorable.

_December, 2008_

The arm wrapped securely around his waist, keeping him in place, was not that of his boyfriends. Even before he was fully awake, before the memories from the night before started to come back, John knew it.

He harbored no last second, dream induced, delusions that the long hair brushing his left bicep was black instead of blue, purple or the multitude of other colors that the man truly lying next to him liked. He did not want to open his eyes to remember what color it was that day.

Panic did begin to settle in on him but instead of scrambling away from the warmth of the body pressed closely to his side, he froze as the full horror of the situation he found himself…he'd put himself in seeped in as well.

He wasn't hung-over, although he wished he was. The haze of alcohol would have been an easier-and perhaps even more explainable-excuse for what he had done, for where he was. But it hadn't been alcohol that had gotten him into the situation; at least it hadn't been entirely.

The body next to him shifted and John brought the heels of his hands up to press them against his closed eyes, dislodging the arm wrapped around him in the process. Guilt, the kind of guilt he had never felt before in his entire life, squeezed his insides until he was sure he was going to choke on the air around him and he waited…

"John?"

He imagined that the man he was supposed to be sleeping next to might be worried that he hadn't shown up. They'd had a terrible fight the night before, one of their worst and John had been so angry when he'd left…

"John?"

He imagined walking into his hotel room with the guilt still tearing at his insides. He imagined that his boyfriend would still be up, maybe worrying himself about the fight they'd had. He imagined confessing. He was sure he was going to be sick.

"John!"

His arms dropped heavily to his sides and he finally opened his eyes…

_2011_

For a minute, they were both silent and then Punk went over to his suitcase. John watched him with a frown as he rummaged in one of the side pockets before he pulled out several pieces of paper. He turned back to John and held them up.

"Got your letter," he stated.

"Yeah…" He paused, let out a breath. "Thought maybe you wouldn't read it."

Punk shrugged and then he got up on the edge of the bed, sitting cross-legged and keeping as much distance between himself and John as possible. "A letter?" His voice turned incredulous.

"You wouldn't talk to me. I was a little desperate." He reached across the distance between them and pulled the paper from Punk's hands. "You said last night you don't hate me."

"I'm still angry," Punk admitted. "I've tried not to be but I still am."

"I know." John stared down at the paper, recalling the words he had written there. "I remember waking up after the first time. I've never felt guilt like that before or since."

"But you didn't stop," Punk pointed out with an unreadable expression.

"No. And I could tell you I was stupid and how sorry I am…"

Punk looked away from him. "I used to wonder about it. You can get into some real self-hatred after shit like that, let me tell you. Used to wonder if you just got tired of my bullshit, got tired of being with such a cynical bastard. Then I'd get angry at myself for thinking like that."

"You shouldn't ever think like that. I _was _stupid."

"I think I drove myself a little crazy," Punk continued, as if John hadn't even spoken. He still wasn't looking at John. "I didn't just hate Jeff after that. I hated everybody. Everyone backstage, the fans, the job even. I didn't trust anybody. Hell, I didn't trust myself."

"Punk…"

"I hated you even more for that." Punk finally met his gaze. "I hated that you had that much control over me, over my _sanity._ I _need _this to stop, John. One way or the other."

"Whatever you want me to do…If you want me to leave you alone-" John caught the desperate look in Punk's eyes just before he was cut off, before Punk suddenly surged forward and pressed his lips against John's.

For a moment, John froze in shock and then Punk was pressing closer to him. It took him a moment to respond, to sink into the kiss. He felt like his brain was short circuiting on him. It didn't last long, though. Almost as soon as it had started, it stopped; Punk was pulling away from him.

John stared at him and his breath caught at the almost tortured look in Punk's eyes.

"I still love you," Punk finally admitted, stopping any response that John might have come up with to that kiss. He scrambled off the bed a second later, backing away from John.

"We have a few days off after RAW tonight. I'm going home. I need you to leave me alone when I do. I need…" He paused, trailed off, and there was a shine of unshed tears in his eyes. "I need to figure out if I can trust you again."

"Okay," John accepted immediately, blinking back tears of his own. Punk nodded, refusing to meet his gaze. John got up from the bed, only taking a moment to slip his shoes back on before he headed for the door.

He glanced back briefly at Punk but didn't say anything and then he was out the door. He walked towards his own room, this time with a new feeling of hope mixing with all the other emotions swirling in his chest.


	9. Off Days

The argument between Shawn and John is…kind of pointless and something I may have written that part while I was half asleep. I considered taking it out…

_November, 2006_

"Check it out. ECW guys."

John turned towards the monitors at Shawn's voice and swallowed. He'd heard that there were supposed to be several ECW and Smackdown guys on RAW that day. He just hadn't known which guys would be there. Although he'd been hoping…

He nearly did grin when CM Punk's music hit and the man came out. John watched, enthralled for a moment. He'd watched ECW since CM Punk's debut there just a couple of months before and he could admit that he had developed a bit of a crush.

John figured if he had a type, physically that was, Punk was it. From his long hair to his smaller frame to the tattoos, John was of the opinion that he was beautiful. It didn't help that the trunks he wore rode almost obscenely low on his hips, accentuating his hipbones.

"He'll be on mine and Hunter's Survivor Series team," Shawn informed him. He had crossed his arms and was watching John without him noticing at first. John was a little busy watching the match that was taking place in the ring. When he finally did notice, he frowned.

"What?"

"You," Shawn poked him in the chest, "think he's hot."

John scoffed. "I think a lot of people are hot," he pointed out.

"Riiight." Shawn rolled his eyes, arms at his side and John was reminded once again that the forty one year old man could act more like a teenager than most teenagers sometimes. "But you think he is."

"What are we, in high school?" John asked in irritation. Shawn only raised his eyebrows. "Fine, he's hot."

Shawn's expression turned speculative and he glanced back at the monitors. "Oooh. I don't know. Too many tattoos if you ask me." He scratched at his chin.

And it was John who rolled his eyes this time. "Sometimes I can't figure out if you're messing with me or if you really have just been hit in the head too many times."

"You should go tell him you think he's hot," Shawn demanded, shooing John towards the door and ignoring John's jab at him.

"Oh, yeah, that's a great idea," John exclaimed with fake enthusiasm. "I'll just walk right up to the guy and say 'Hey, I totally think you're hot. You wanna come shower with me?'"

"You should probably skip the shower scene until you've at least gone on a few dates but, yes." Shawn started pushing him towards the door. John, exasperated, allowed it. "Don't be shy now."

John stood in the hallway for a moment, considering his options before he started down the hall. He might as well at least introduce himself. That wouldn't hurt. John did catch Punk just as he came back through the curtain, long hair a mess from his match, a grin on his face from the win.

He turned towards John just as he got close. "Nice match," John offered, stopping just shy of the other man's personal space.

"Thanks," Punk answered, with a hint of amusement.

John offered a hand. "John Cena."

The smile that formed on Punk's face had John smiling as well. He took John's hand. "I know."

_February, 2011_

Punk had told John he would think about it, that he needed the three days off he spent in Chicago to figure out if he could trust John but Colt and several of his friends were waiting for him when he got home and he was so very tired of thinking about it.

For the first time in a long time, he completely pushed the issue to the back of his mind. Maybe he had told John that he was going to think about it but he had done nothing but that for so long that he…needed to not think about it for a while. And his closest friends, who knew him better than anyone, distracted him from it very well.

And he actually had fun when he was able to push John to the back of his mind and maybe he needed that more than going over and over the issue in his head.

Plus, there was just nothing funnier than a drunk Colt Cabana. Colt was goofy as hell and endlessly optimistic sober. Punk was sure that that was why they had managed to stay friends for such a long time. He himself had always been a sarcastic asshole and a bit of pessimist.

It wasn't until night, when he wasn't sleeping that he thought about it, that he had to think about it…

Xxxxxxxxx

"Time to get up!" Punk stood over his couch, and grinned when all he got was a groan in response from the man lying on it. Colt attempted to roll over, almost pitching himself onto the floor, to get away from the loud voice.

"Come on, we stopped sleeping in when we got real jobs, remember?"

Colt cracked his eyes open and glared. "I hate you."

"Liar," Punk countered automatically. He held out the mug he'd brought with him. "I made coffee." His grin widened. "And breakfast."

Colt pushed himself up into a sitting position and eyed Punk before taking the mug. "How long have you been up?" He'd, thankfully, slept off most of the hangover himself.

"A while," Punk answered, standing and heading towards the kitchen. Colt followed at a slower pace.

"Guess I shouldn't be surprised." Colt studied Punk a moment. "So, you talk to John yet?" He asked bluntly. He was always pretty blunt with Punk. He'd found out pretty quickly that the man identified with it better than anything.

"First thing in the morning…seriously?"

Colt shrugged. "Your flights in four hours, isn't it?" And he'd wanted to wait until the last day to ask about it. The last couple of days, Punk had actually managed to push his issues aside and have some fun and Colt hadn't wanted to ruin that.

Punk scowled but answered. "Yes, I talked to him and yes, I've thought about it. Not really anything else to do when you can't sleep."

"And…"

"And would you be able to trust someone who pulled that shit on you?"

Colt considered the question for a moment. "It's been a year and a half," he pointed out and then held up a hand before Punk could say anything. "Not saying time erases the crime but maybe he has learned his lesson. And if you still love the guy after all this time…"

"I'm getting a headache," Punk mumbled, sitting at the kitchen island and putting his head in his hands.

"Look, man, I know you. I know you haven't been happy with, well, anything lately. "

Punk lifted his head. Colt was right, of course. He hadn't been happy and it had gotten so bad that he had, on occasion, even entertained the idea of leaving WWE when his contract expired in July. Being around John had been what had driven him so crazy in the first place and it wasn't as if many of the higher ups liked him in the company.

He hated the idea that his peak in the company would always be his feud with Jeff Hardy.

He did still love John too. That kiss in his hotel room three nights ago had only proven it to him, proven something that he had really already known. But, at the same time, he couldn't fathom a relationship working if he couldn't trust John.

"Maybe you should take a different approach this time," Colt suggested, bringing him out of his thoughts.

Punk contemplated that. After he and John had met the first time in 2006, they had pretty much spent all the time they could together. Their relationship had progressed pretty damn fast too.

"So, what are you going to do?"

Punk shook his head. Maybe he was over thinking it again. Maybe he wouldn't be able to trust John again but he'd already proven to himself that he wasn't going to be able to move on, hadn't he? At least, not until he _knew. _

And, there, standing in his kitchen, he finally made a decision.


	10. Right

I reread this chapter and just realized how much cussing there is in here on Randy's part…but Randy _does _cuss a lot, so…

I know CM Punk likes comics. I don't know which ones he likes. But I thought the first bit was cute after I wrote it…and I hated the X-Men movies myself…I have heard, however, CM Punk reference he and John as Batman and Superman in an interview, which I also thought was cute.

This is my real last chapter. Sorry about the confusion on the one before this…

_June, 2007_

"I think I want to wash my eyes out after that," Punk stated idly. He was stretched across the bed, head hanging off the side while the credits played on his television.

"It wasn't that bad," John protested mildly. He had his back against the headboard and was watching his boyfriend with a mildly amused expression.

"I should expect Hollywood to completely decimate all the best comic book villains," he said with a fair amount of disdain. John suppressed a grin. Punk had been bitching about the portrayal of Victor Von Doom since John had rented the Fantastic Four movie.

"There _are _worse movies out there," he pointed out.

"I _guess _it wasn't as bad as that atrocity they like to call X-Men 3," Punk allowed. "But, come on."

"You didn't like X-Men 3?" John asked lightly with a raised eyebrow.

Punk lifted his head to glare at John. "You're just waiting for me to go on a rant, aren't you?"

John shrugged. "Maybe…" Punk only dropped his head back again in response and John watched him a moment. He'd been restless pretty much since the movie had started. He reached his arms backward, over his head, causing the faded tee-shirt he was wearing to ride up a little bit.

"So, if you could be in one, what would you want to be in?" John asked, a light in his eyes.

"We could both be in one," Punk suggested. "I'll be Batman. You can be Superman." He placed his hands flat on the floor and flipped himself into a standing position. A second later, he dropped back down on the bed, face first this time.

John smiled as Punk moved around restlessly on the bed and he was reminded of how much he liked this, of how much he liked Punk's bitchiness and his weirdness, of how much he did not want it to end. The past six months with Punk had been some of his best months.

He reached forward, wrapped his fingers of his left hand around Punk's forearm. Punk stilled, and turned a questioning gaze on him at the serious look that was on John's face.

"I love you," John stated plainly, easily. He was surprised at how easy the words came out, considering he'd realized it weeks ago. He was still mildly worried about Punk's reaction but it felt right to say the words.

He shouldn't have been worried, however, because Punk smiled and he answered just as easily.

"I love you too."

Xxxxxxxxxx

_February, 2011_

"So…you guys have been apart for a year and half and he needs a few more days…?"

"That's what I said." John attempted to keep his attention focused on the game and not on the incredulity in Randy's voice.

"A year and a half wasn't enough time to think?"

"Apparently not," John answered shortly. He didn't want to be discussing this. He was already anxious about the situation. The next houseshow was twelve hours away and he still hadn't seen any sign of Punk.

John had taken a page from his book; however, because he hadn't slept much at all since the last time he'd seen Punk. Telling Randy about it must have been a product of exhaustion.

"Think this is going to go my way?" John asked after a moment.

Randy shrugged. "No clue."

"Thanks. You're real helpful." John took a swig from his beer and Randy rolled his eyes.

"Look, man, there are a lot of people who forgive others for a lot of fucked up shit. My wife has forgiven me a lot. And, hey, we're friends, right? Even after all the shit I pulled on you. But, Punk…I don't know the guy, at least not like you do. I don't know if he's the type to forgive that kind of thing. And…what you did? That was really fucked up."

"I know that." John sighed, rubbed a hand across his face.

"Maybe he will forgive you." Randy paused, studied him with narrowed eyes. "You gonna be able to handle it if he doesn't?"

"I don't know," John mumbled, letting out a sigh when someone knocked on the door. It was probably Evan. He'd been bugging John about going out with the guys since the day before. When he opened the door, though, he froze. Punk stood before him, bag over his shoulder, hands stuffed in the pockets of his hoodie.

Randy leaned over so he could see who it was and then he was standing. "See you later Cena," he said, with a glance at Punk before he skirted past both men and made his way down the hallway.

"Hanging out with Orton now?" Punk asked with a raised eyebrow but there was no ire in his tone.

"Uh…yeah," John answered, his surprise still evident.

"You going to let me in?"

"Yeah…" John stepped to the side and Punk walked past him. John closed the door, turning to him just as Punk dropped his bag on the bed. "I was beginning to think I wasn't going to see you…"

"Yeah, well, I wasn't sure if you were either."

"But you're here." John shifted on his feet and crossed his arms.

"Yeah."

"Why are you here?" John finally asked, unable to take the unreadable expression on Punk's face any longer.

"I'm here because I apparently can't move on." He paused, shook his head. "I was still angry but I do still love you. I just could not figure out what to do about it."

"But you have made a decision."

Punk nodded. "I love you and it's bigger than the anger," he admitted.

John let out a breath and started closer, stopped when Punk took a step back, and held up a hand. "First, wait. You've been after me for a second chance for a while now. I'd like to know how much you really want that?"

"I want that more than anything," John said immediately. "I can't move on either and I've never loved anyone the way I love you."

"Okay." Punk closed his eyes a moment. "Okay, here's the deal. Even after all this time, I can't just instantly forget what you did and I don't know if I can fully trust you again but I don't think I will know unless I try."

"But you are willing to try?" The relief that welled in John was almost overwhelming.

"We go slow," Punk started, still keeping his distance. "I don't even know if this is going to work but I can't just jump headlong into this again. I know it won't work that way."

"Okay. Slow is fine. Whatever you want," John agreed. Punk nodded and John was finally able to get close. And, for the first time in a year and a half, he allowed John to pull him close, into his arms.

"I missed you," John breathed, wrapping the man securely in his arms. Punk didn't say anything but he did bury his face in John's neck and wrapped his arms just as securely around John. It felt good, it felt right. For the first time in a long time, John felt whole.


End file.
